Gods Don't Bleed
by starrose2012
Summary: A story detailing Torn's life as Commander of the KG, his introduction to Erol and Erol's obsession with him, his intro to the Underground, and his eventual betrayal to Baron Praxis and the KG.   Title is a line from "The Road to El Dorado."
1. Ch 0: Prologue

"Gods Don't Bleed"

Chapter 0: Prologue

Torn sat with his head slouched forward over the smooth metallic surface of the Hip Hog Haven's many booth-like tables. His shoulder length brown hair was tied into a series of tight braids, but a few strands had managed to wiggle themselves free of the secure knots. His eyes, which were a shade of blue that would have been considered soft were they in any other face, were currently shut tight in irritation over the day's proceedings.

The rest of Torn's face was seasoned and hardened, the face of a soldier. Most of the upper part of Torn's face was covered in the dark grey of the Krimzon Guard's signature tattoos. Like the rest of the men, Torn's tattoos were one of a kind, as much an identifier of his identity as the prints on his long fingers or the DNA in his hair.

All of Torn's body was long and slender. It was a body built to be swift, a body built to be nimble. It was a body hardened and disciplined within every inch of its long and slender frame. It was a body that could move to fire a gun before an enemy had time to think. It was the body of a man that could command a room without needing to raise his husky voice. It was the body of a leader, of a soldier, of a killer.

It was the body of the Commander of the Krimzon Guard, the elite force of soldiers in Haven City. It was the body of a man that the world revered, whether from fear or from awe. It was the body of a man answerable to only Baron Praxis, Haven City's ruler, and himself. It was a body that had driven itself past every conceivable breaking point in order to become that man.

And, in that sense, it wasn't the body of a man at all. It was the body of a god.


	2. Ch 1: New Recruits

Chapter 1: New Recruits

"Stand up straight! Eyes forward! Suck in your gut or I'll slice it slimmer!"

Erol blinked lazily in the bright morning sunrise as it shined out over the top of the Palace's far back left support tower. The tower's firm and gleaming sides sent the sunlight splintering across the dirt floor of the Palace's inner training yard. The light was the orangey yellow color of old streetlamps, and it hung on the surfaces surrounding the troops like honey.

Erol yawned, shifting momentarily to hide the act of insubordination from the captain's lieutenant as he marched along in front of the line of fresh recruits. Erol stood in the third row back from the front, five men in from the left. He would have been invisible to the lieutenant's surmising eyes if not for his obnoxiously red hair.

"Listen up now men, fall into attention! Your captain is about to speak!"

Erol rolled his eyes and snorted quietly under his breath. Beside him, another recruit with long dark brown hair giggled in response. Erol spared his fellow a smirk before turning his attention back to the front. The captain was speaking.

The captain was a chubby man, and he didn't hold the weight well. His neck was rather wobbly, and his legs looked like they were working overtime to keep him up. He strode (well, waddled) with a huffing determination to the dead center of the yard, before swinging his massive weight forward. He glared out at the young recruits, his eyes smoldering with disdain and a sense of resignation. He didn't hide his feelings about being their leader well, in fact he practically spit it at them.

"Alright you bunch of lousy, lice-ridden morons, listen up. Your assignment for today is the D-level evacuation course, followed by the 25-C level training course, then you can eat. But only if you pass." The captain smirked at that last comment, before gesturing to his lieutenant who nodded and barked orders at the recruits to "Move out! Eyes forward! Don't slouch!"

Erol followed the row of men in front of him, his usual disrespectful sneer making his slender face contort into all different shades of maliciousness.

oooooooooooooooooo

"They're a bunch of inadequate children. What do you expect out of them? They're rats from the slum. They'll never make good soldiers." Torn, the undisputed Commander of the Krimzon Guard, stood, or rather, leaned against the smooth pillar inside the main audience chamber of Baron Praxis's palace. His body, slender and muscled, reflected the hard years that he had spent leading the KG. Even his eyes spoke of memories too haunting to be recalled, and too dangerous to be whispered. Across the room, peering out into the far yard below, was Baron Praxis, the ruler of Haven City.

"Even rats can kill, if provoked and prodded enough." The Baron responded evenly, drawing a snort from his subordinate.

"I hardly think even these rats want to protect their trash. You should have let me hand pick the new recruits. It would have resulted in a stronger and more efficient force."

"I don't see your need to complain so much Torn, it isn't like I asked you to be in charge of their upkeep. "

Torn rolled his eyes and stood up straight. He strode over to the window, peering down at the scrambling recruits in the far field below as they raced through the courses, looking more like rats with every passing second. Torn sneered in disgust.

"I suppose I'm to go down there then?"

"Not yet. Let's see how many make it to lunch."


End file.
